


That Could've Been Us

by whitetiger91



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Declarations Of Love, F/M, Feelings, Gen, Love, Love Confessions, Romance, Unrequited Love, Wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2019-02-17 23:45:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13087965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitetiger91/pseuds/whitetiger91
Summary: It's her daughter's wedding, yet all Druella wants to do is get rid of a certain blond who has bee haunting her for decades.





	That Could've Been Us

With pursed lips and a goblet of the finest champagne money could buy in her hands, Druella watched her youngest daughter dancing with her new husband. Narcissa looked as regal as ever, her silky blonde hair tied up in a knot at the back of her head. She was smiling—really smiling—as Lucius turned her in a circle. Druella's stomach twisted a little watching them, wondering just how happy her daughter could ever be.

"You know that could've been you and me there," a cold voice said from behind her.

Druella's heart skipped a beat. She had hoped to avoid its owner as much as possible this evening, and it had only been the obligatory family photographs that so far had come in the way of such a goal. Even so, she managed to prevent her drink from sloshing down her dress robes and turned around to face the unwelcome guest.

"Lord Malfoy," she said, dipping her head once.

"Avoiding my name as well as my presence, I see." Abraxas Malfoy's lips twitched into his signature smirk, and he took the goblet from her hands. "Perhaps this isn't helping with your mood."

Druella tried to snatch back the goblet, but Abraxas had already placed it on a nearby table. Biting her tongue so that she did not scowl or say something most unladylike, she turned from the man and looked around the large ballroom. If she could find Cygnus, she would ask him to dance, and take her as far away from Abraxas as possible.

Scanning the crowds, however, she saw no sign of her husband or any other suitable company. Her only other daughter, Bellatrix, was too busy arguing with her own husband and his brother, and Druella's friends were too deep in discussion—no doubt trying to find a fault in Narcissa's silk dress robes where there was none. As it were, she had already listened to far too much of their gossip for her liking.

"Come on, it's a family occasion; don't you want to share another memory with me?" Abraxas pressed on.

Druella felt a cold hand on her wrist, and soon she was spun back around to face him. Grey eyes pierced into her own, narrowing as she tried to rip her wrist out of his grip.

"The only thing I would ever want to share with you is your funeral, Malfoy, in which I will be the one personally digging your grave."

Abraxas leant forward, sending goosebumps up her arms. His breath tickled her ear as he whispered, "You're just as vicious with your words as I remember you. Come, just one dance; let me remember."

He then led her towards the dance floor, ignoring the way she dug her nails into his arm. Abraxas never seemed to understand the word "no," especially when it was most important. Moving one arm to her lower back, he continued to grip her wrist with his other. Slowly, he led them in a slow dance.

Druella stared at anyone but him. She looked back into the crowd of guests, searching for a familiar face that would help her. No one seemed to be looking at her, though, and after a while, she gave up and stared at the polished marble floor. Abraxas remained silent for a moment, occasionally twirling them both in a circle where the music would allow it.

The music soon changed, and a soft ballad come on.

"This was your favourite, wasn't it?" Abraxas said.

Druella ignored him. She could feel Abraxas' chest heave up and down as he let out a sigh, and soon the pressure on her back lifted. His fingers were under her chin, tilting her face up so that she was forced to look into his eyes. This time, there was no smugness present; rather, there was an almost longing look within them. Druella blinked, feeling herself becoming lost in their icy depths as she had once before. Perhaps—for once—Abraxas was right, in that she maybe had had too much to drink that evening.

He sighed again, his grip on her wrist loosening ever so slightly.

"You're never going to let it go, are you?" he said. "It's been over twenty years."

"I haven't been counting," she replied. She turned her head back to the crowd as Abraxas' fingers left her chin.

It was a lie. She had counted, twenty four years and fifty-nine days to be exact. Twenty four years in which she had been forced to accept that her beau of three years was to marry one of her dorm-mates. Twenty four years in which she had to rid the memory of watching the wedding as a bridesmaid, unable to curse her friend for being the bride simply because the marriage was a done deal, because a Malfoy and a Rosier weren't supposed to be together as much as a Malfoy and a Fawley. Twenty-four years that she had to smile and pretend to be happy.

And all Abraxas seemed to want to do was remind her, to be selfish and have her only when it suited him.

"You know I didn't have a choice, right?" Abraxas said after another moment of silence.

Druella's heart clenched and her eyes suddenly felt heavy. She had dreaded this wedding for months, and not just because her youngest would soon be relying on someone else. Now, the tears that she had kept in for over two decades threatened to fall. Narrowing her eyes in an effort to keep them in, she glared back up at the wizard.

"Everyone has a choice, Malfoy. You could have told your mother 'no.' You could have told her we were together; that you weren't in love with Cecilia. Your father wouldn't have cared, not when I also came from money and a strong bloodline."

For once, it seemed as though Abraxas had no smart quip lined up, no prepared apology to snake his way out of the situation. His mouth opened, yet when she narrowed her eyes even further, they closed.

The ballad ended and Abraxas finally let her go. He broke their gaze, suddenly finding the crowd just as fascinating as she had earlier. Druella took the chance to wipe at her eyes, taking a step away from him.

"You know it wasn't that simple," he said, finally looking up.

He reached out for her hand, but this time, as she drew it away, he accepted the rejection. A single tear freed itself, slipping down Druella's cheek. Abraxas placed his hands into his pocket, digging around for something. Soon, he pulled out an embroidered silk handkerchief, offering it to her.

Shaking her head, she swiped a finger across her cheek. She felt fragile, like a child, and knew if she didn't get away from the blond soon, the other guests would see her the same way. Despite herself, she fixed her gaze back onto Abraxas and asked the question she should have over twenty-four years ago.

"Why? Why didn't you just say 'no'?" she asked, pursing her lips again so that they would not quiver.

Abraxas opened his mouth to speak, yet again, his words came up short. Breaking their gaze, he searched the room, obviously seeking an escape route.

"That could have been us," he repeated, pointing to Narcissa and Lucius still dancing with each other, smiles lighting up both of their faces. "But it's our children, now. At least they have a chance at happiness."

Another tear slipped down Druella's cheek, but this time she didn't wipe it away. She turned her attention to her daughter, watching the girl move and sway for a moment. Abraxas hadn't answered her question, but that didn't mean she had to accept it.

Sighing, she looked at the man one last time. "No, it couldn't have been us," she said, turning from him, "because with your indecision, we wouldn't have been happy."

She began to stride away, yet another tear falling. Abraxas called after her, yet just like two decades earlier, he didn't chase after her. Funnily enough, this time, she didn't care he didn't.


End file.
